


Maybe There’s a Reason (Why We’re All Together)

by kaylacscott (SilverStreaksofStardust)



Category: In Real Life (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 11:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17641940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverStreaksofStardust/pseuds/kaylacscott
Summary: Four times Chance was there for his band mates and one time they were there for him.





	Maybe There’s a Reason (Why We’re All Together)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is not meant to assume that the band, In Real Life, are going through certain incidents that the writer put them through. It is meant to be a story of their friendship and everyday experiences that some people go through.

__

 

_❝You can lie your way into someone's heart,_

_But that person fell for your truth.❞_

 

Brady regards himself carefully in the bathroom mirror. It's not like he's being vain or anything; no, that will imply that he has high self-esteem.

The face he stares at is someone he recognizes and can't help but dislike. There's curiosity brewing inside of him—a type that stirs up ever so often, making him want to ask but can't. His questions of his own appearance are often voiced out loud, but recently Brady keeps them to himself. It's not like anyone will understand. His band mates can't possibly have these kinds of problems.

Brady can list about a hundred things he hates about himself, and that's just off the top of his head. Although his fans are sweet—amazing, really—to give compliments, Brady sometimes thinks there's lies wrapped in them with the truth.

Brady doesn't know how he can measure up to his friends. Their looks are off the roof insane, while Brady's stuck with a somewhat angular face, and hair that can look atrocious most of the time.

Whoever said that looks don't matter obviously doesn't live in this time of year. No matter how much you twist the words, saying what's in your heart is worth more, society doesn't think like that. Magazines don't think that. Many people don't...

He heads out to the living room, deciding that wallowing in self-pity isn't going to do anything. With the rest of his band mates somewhere in the house, they have miraculously left the television alone, so Brady thinks of watching a movie by himself.

Footsteps thud down the stairs, and Brady glances over his shoulder, a bit hopeful that somebody will join him.

"Bradford. Michael and I are playing basketball. Wanna join?" Sergio Calderon passes by, as usual with a sunny smile. The Latino is wearing his blue sleeveless top and black shorts, evidently prepared for a workout.

"No, I'm good." Brady hesitates. Exercise is beneficial—but 'playing basketball' is just shooting hoops, and Brady basically stands around. Sports isn't really his thing anyway.

"Okay." Sergio heads out to the backyard, and Brady can hear Michael shout something before the screen door closes.

Brady settles on the couch. He feels tired lately, but it must be because of the band's touring. It's normal. They've finished their tour in Tokyo, and are now at their house in Los Angeles until Christmas comes along, when they'll go back home.

Brady grimaces, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. He grabs the water bottle resting on the coffee table, taking a sip. He's bought a box of them, and so far they're located all over the house—in the bedroom, the living room, the fridge, and even the bathroom.

He hates getting lightheaded. It started two weeks ago, so Brady started drinking more. All it really does is make him pee a lot. Not what he wants. Besides, it still doesn't get his mind off the fact that his stomach grumbles, to the point that it slightly hurts.

"Mind if I join you?" A sleepy Chance Perez appears, his dark hair ruffled and clothes rumpled. He must've just woken up.

"Yeah, of course." Brady places the water bottle down, clenching his jaw with the headache not subsiding.

They sit in silence for awhile. Chance looks so damn tired, bags underneath his eyes noticeable, but instead questions something that leaves Brady in shock.

"How come you don't eat?"

Brady's planned for this. But here, right out of the blue, leaves him off guard. He quickly regains composure, crossing his arms. "What are you taking about?"

"You don't eat. I mean, at first I thought you were sick or something. But you keep refusing the food I bring you, so I'm just wondering. Are you okay?"

"I'm going on a diet," Brady replies truthfully. He braces himself, expecting a snarky comment or laughter. _Guys_ _shouldn't worry about these things. They shouldn't care._

Instead, Chance looks concerned. "It's, uh, healthy, right?"

"Yeah, I ate salad," Brady nods his head. It's technically true—he did eat salad which was some days ago. "I also had a huge steak, it was really good." That one was a lie.

"Anything else?"

"I just ate some chips." Brady doesn't like the feeling of guilt squeezing inside his chest. Especially when Chance is looking like that, all fatherly and concerned. So freaking trusting...

"Great." Chance looks relieved. "Make sure to eat lunch, 'kay?"

Brady mutely nods, wondering if he's really good of an actor or if Chance cares to notice.

* * *

It's been a week since the discovery of Brady going on a "diet". The seventeen year old makes a cautious effort to be eating when his band mates are nearby. No one will know, or ask questions. However, the thing that ruins Brady's entire plan is at _Hot Topic_.

Due to it being the first week of December, Chance plans to hit the mall and do Christmas shopping. Brady decides to go along, because all he bought were cat-themed socks that his elder brother Jack surely won't appreciate.

Passing by the stores, most which consist of clothing, Brady figures chocolate will satisfy his siblings. Chance is so adamant on buying merch, though, that Brady has no choice but to follow along.

" _Hot Topic_?" Brady asks, in a tone of disbelief. He hasn't seen Chance go to that place, like, ever.

"Yeah, I could get good stuff, like from _Nirvana_ , or _Pink Floyd_." Chance, forever the lover of things last century, talks animately.

When they enter the store, soft music is playing from the speakers. The store has dim lighting, and there are shelves and racks with merchandise ranging from _Hello Kitty_ to the band, _Metallica_.

Brady shakes his head in amazement. He spots a goth chick and a boy who has a effeminate face. Both are dressed head to toe in black, with piercings or tattoos. It's... kinda stereotypical, but Brady can't help but think that they look exactly like the kind of people who listen to loud, angry music.

His head begins to hurt. Brady shakes the feeling off, and follows Chance to the t-shirt section.

"Green Day," Chance observes. "Brady, you want one?" He holds up a shirt, and Brady, for a moment, wonders if he's actually being serious.

"Uh, haha, nah. I'm good." Brady looks around awkwardly. He sees a bin with wrist bands. One of them reads _Welcome to the Black Parade_ , whatever that means.

"Look at these vinyl records!" Chance enthuses, practically a hop in his step as he rummages through a bin. "Oh, man."

Brady rubs his eyes. Besides for them and two other people, the store is quiet. The cashier lady looks bored, picking at her brightly orange-coloured nails.

"Okay, I'm ready." Chance goes to the cashier with a record— _Queen_ , most likely—who immediately plasters a huge smile on her face.

Brady's vision is getting blurry, and he feels sick. He leans against the counter for support, waiting as Chance pays.

 _Damnit, Brady, hold yourself together!_ Unfortunately his brain doesn't agree, and he faints.

Well, it was more like falling back in slow motion, that kind of horrible realization that this is actually happening, and why now? Brady hits his head against the floor, but doesn't feel any pain. He literally blacks out for a quick second, and once regaining consciousness, feels very embarrassed.

Chance anxiously leans down, and says in a clear voice, "Brady? Can you hear me? Blink if you can."

Brady closes his eyes, and hears a murmur of voices around him, wondering what is happening. The floor is cold and for a moment Brady considers lying there and waiting until the whole thing is over.

"Is he okay?" The cashier asks worriedly. "Does he have diabetes?"

Brady sits up, while Chance gingerly holds his arm.

"I-I'll bring a chair," the cashier stammers, quickly leaving.

A security guard comes over, and Brady realizes that this is really happening.

After the guy asks several questions, it finally comes to, "Did you eat anything today?"

Shit. You just can't lie to a security guy. "No," Brady admits. "I drank water, though."

"Did you eat anything yesterday?" Chance cuts in.

Brady looks away. "I ate supper."

"And what about all week?" The security guard picks up. "Did you skip breakfast and lunch?"

"Yes." Brady burns with shame, and wants to cry. He wants to go home, and pretend this never ever happened.

"Oh god, Brady," Chance murmurs. "I didn't know."

_You weren't supposed to._

The security officer jots down in his notebook, expression serious the whole time. "Is your guardian here?"

"We're in a band," Chance explains. "Our manager is the guardian currently, but I am, too."

"Make sure he eats. And maybe something sugary for now."

Chance nods his head, and after the cashier lady comes back with a chair, Brady is already up on his feet.

Chance guides Brady out of the store.

"You're not mad, are you?" Brady asks tentatively.

"No. I'm frustrated, because I didn't realize." Chance looks at Brady straight in the eye. "We'll get you a smoothie. What flavour?"

"I'm okay."

"You have to drink something, Brady, and eat." Chance's expression softens. "I don't know why you'd do this. I mean, you're perfect. You really are."

Brady feels tears sting his eyes. He feels a rush of gratitude for Chance, with some frustration. "I'm not perfect. Look who's talking."

"Brady, I wish you could realize how amazing and beautiful you are." Chance squeezes the blond's shoulder. "I'll have a drink with you. So what flavour?"

"Something with banana?" Brady gives in.

Chance smiles at the progress. "Deal."

At this moment, Brady feels closer with Chance than he ever did before. Chance _knows_ , and for some reason, he's kind of relieved. "You forgot your record," Brady remembers, looking back to the store that is now several feet away.

"I'll get it later." Chance wraps his arm around the younger boy's shoulders. "Don't want you fainting on me again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot of bad things in the world, but negativity, no matter how big or small, shouldn't be dismissed as "people have it worse than you". It’s invalidating someone's SAFETY and HEALTH.
> 
> I’ve noticed Brady commenting on things about himself negatively, which makes me heartbroken. He’s still influenced by people, and finding himself and confidence. I hope he grows to know that he's beautiful, and not just on the outside, but as a person. ❤️ If you know any of your friends who are putting themselves down consistently, please tell them the truth—that they matter, that they're beautiful and amazing. It’s crazy how much words can have an impact, and it's a choice whether it's positive or negative. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This story does not depict all people who are with anorexia nervosa. In no shape or form is the author trying to romanticize any type of eating disorder.


End file.
